


Baking Grace

by storm_aurora



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures
Genre: "how can I restate this in the most pretentious way possible", Alternate Universe - Bakery, Crush at First Sight, Dia in love is so fun to write, F/M, Fluff, POV First Person, Platinum in general is fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-01-25 02:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12521364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_aurora/pseuds/storm_aurora
Summary: The DP Bakery is one of the best in town, run by two best friends who are the best at what they do. But what happens when someone of the best-known family in town decides to patronize their business...?





	1. A Taste of Royalty

It was a pure stroke of luck, really, that I ever saw her at all.

A self-righteous customer had been complaining to Pearl about how his cake hadn't been made to his expectations, and demanded to speak to the baker. (That's me!) Pearl fetched me and I had to endure a few minutes of the customer's tirade myself, attempting to placate him while he ranted about how "that's _not_ how cheesecake is made" and "you didn't follow my _exact specifications_ for this cake". (Although those, I've double-checked, had contained all the problems he was complaining about.)

Finally, the customer stormed out, declaring he'd never buy a cake from our bakery again. I was disappointed that he didn't like my cake, but I guess I can't please everybody. Pearl muttered that he'd have to keep an eye out for a negative review from him online and headed back behind the register. I started to head back to the kitchen, but then the bell above the door rang again. I glanced over my shoulder - was the angry customer back for another round of ranting?

Instead of an infuriated young man, I saw _her_.

She walked with confidence and poise, her head held high and each footstep purposely placed. Her thin lips were set in a firm line, and her golden eyes glittered with determination. Her hair fell in indigo-blue waves around her face, pulled back by two barrettes that matched her eyes. She held her arms behind her back while she walked, but she uncrossed them and placed her hands on the edge of the counter when she approached it. She had perfectly manicured nails, painted a rose pink.

She was like a real live princess…and she had come to _my bakery_.

(Well, technically it's mine and Pearl's, but… _I_ do all the baking. People don't come to a bakery just because they have a good manager.)

I stood there in awe of her for a few moments before Pearl hissed in my ear, "C'mon, Dia, get back to work. Those cookies won't bake themselves."

I started and ran back into the kitchen. Pearl was right about me having cookies to bake. (They're for a little girl's birthday party tomorrow.) But, I wouldn't be able to hear what was going on in the main room if I was baking cookies. Instead, I grabbed some cookies I had already made and began to frost them near the doorway, all the while listening in on the conversation between my friend and our newest customer. 

Pearl must have just asked her a question about flavor, because she hummed for a moment before saying nonchalantly, "Strawberry." 

(It's a type of line delivery I hear all the time from people who've meticulously planned everything they want to order already, but don't want it to seem that way. They're the type of consumers who'll spend an hour comparing reviews and prices before they pick the business they trust to do the job right. I love those consumers.)

Her voice was a little haughtier than I expected, but on second thought, I shouldn't have been too surprised. Her designer clothing, while contributing to the regal air that she gave off, also suggested considerable affluence. I had missed the beginning of her order while I was assembling my supplies, but it sounded like she was ordering a custom cake. The thought made me rather giddy - she'd have to give a name to put on the order, and I could only imagine what refined name an elegant girl like her would have.

But by the time I started frosting the fourth cookie, I was getting frustrated. Did we really need that much information to make a custom-order cake? (Well, maybe Pearl didn't, but I did.) I was starting to think that I had missed the piece of information that I was so eager to learn when finally, Pearl finally asked, "What's the name on the order?"

There was a pause, a long silence that seemed to stretch into an eternity. I didn't dare to breathe, afraid I would exhale too loudly and drown out her reply. Finally, she replied, "Missy."

Missy? What an odd name. (But very cute nonetheless.)

"Last name?"

"Berlitz."

Berlitz!? Did she really say-

"Berlitz?" Pearl repeated, his incredulous tone echoing my own thoughts. "Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes," she responded. "I am a member of the noble Berlitz family."

Pearl remained in a stunned silence for a few moments before I heard his pen scratching her name on the order. "It is an honor to do business with you, miss," he said. "By when do you need this cake finished?"

"This evening," she said.

I could practically hear his eyes roll. "Priority orders are more expensive," he sighed. 

(Pearl doesn't like customers who priority order. They're usually the rich ones with no concept of how long it takes to make quality baked goods.)

"Money is hardly an issue."

"In addition," he continued, as though he hadn't heard her, "there is no guarantee that a priority order can be completed in such a short amount of time."

"I can handle it," I piped up, poking my head out of the kitchen. "If I start now, that is. I don't have any other urgent orders for today."

"Dia-!?" 

When Pearl whipped his head around to stare at me, I couldn't tell if he was more surprised or angry to find me eavesdropping. But the girl - Missy Berlitz - had a smug grin on her pretty face. I gave her a little smile myself, and maybe it was just my imagination, but I swore her smile softened a little when she made eye contact with me.

"Well, I believe it is settled, then," Missy declared. "I shall return around 7:00 this evening to pick up the cake."

Pearl moped the whole time it took him to finish the transaction, but I just waited giddly for him to be done with the order form so I could take it and get to work on Missy's cake right away. It would be difficult to make it in a day, I was sure, but I could manage it. This cake was for Missy, after all. Somehow, I knew I could find it in myself to get the cake done by that evening - I would give her nothing less than perfection. She deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU that's been bouncing around in my head for a while, and I finally decided to start writing it in honor of Platinum's birthday. I've got some general ideas of where I might go with this, but nothing really concrete yet, so I'll have to see how well this is received before I decide whether I want to continue it or not. So if you like this AU and want to see more, comments/kudos will be appreciated :)


	2. The Perfect Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I decided to continue writing this AU after all. I don't know how long it's going to be, and I don't really have much planned out in advance, so I can't promise any sort of regular update schedule. But I hope that you'll enjoy it all the same. :)

The realization struck me belatedly that I really should have thought a little bit more about what exactly Missy wanted me to make before promising that I could get it done in time. I hadn't really paid attention to the whole order, but I knew she wanted something strawberry, a ring of white nonpareils added to the icing border and "Get Well Soon" written in red script on the top. Plus, Pearl's questions had alluded to layers of the cake. Just with that much information, I knew I had at least two hours' worth of cake decorating ahead of me - but first, I had to actually _bake_ the cake.

I winced inwardly as I looked at the rest of the order. She wanted a round, three-layered, red velvet sympathy cake with cream cheese frosting. (Sympathy cakes aren't exactly common, but it's far from the strangest order I've received. I think it's sweet that she's giving a nice cake to a sick friend.) The strawberry she mentioned, as it turned out, was actually candied strawberries to put on the top of the cake. In addition, she asked for two icing roses on top and a crushed pecan garnish on the sides. How I was going to fit all of that on a cake with a 9-inch diameter, I had no idea.

But it was what she wanted, so I would manage it somehow.

I flipped through my recipe book to the recipe for red velvet cake and got to work, preheating the oven and gathering the ingredients. (Most of the recipes that I make I have memorized, but I always make sure to double-check in my recipe book, just in case.) I prepared the cake pans that I was going to use with a light dusting of flour and oil and pulled out two mixing bowls, one for the dry ingredients like flour and cocoa powder and one for the wet ingredients like buttermilk and eggs. Then, it was only a matter of mixing the dry ingredients into the wet ones to make a smooth batter.

Next, I measured out equal amounts of batter and poured them into the three cake pans. Once they had settled evenly, I put the pans into the oven and set a timer - half of the recommended cook time, to remind me to rotate the pans so they'd cook evenly. I figured I'd get back to frosting the cookies I had been working on before while the cake was baking, and start preparing the decorations and frosting while it cooled.

However, I hadn't counted on getting more urgent orders to complete.

Pearl came into the kitchen five minutes after I put the cakes into the oven with a scowl on his face. "Can you make a quick batch of blueberry muffins? Some idiot's Pokémon knocked over the whole display case, and I had to throw them all away."

"You should have saved those for Lax," I said absently, not looking away from the cookies.

"Er - that's what I meant," he said, rubbing his temples. "Sorry. It's been a long day, and it's not even half over…"

I nodded empathetically, but as soon as he left the kitchen I felt a grin spread across my face. (Muffins are a breeze to make, and the recipe I use makes a fairly large batch. I like to sample each batch of muffins before we sell them.)

I'd only just gathered all the ingredients to make muffins when the timer went off, indicating that Missy's red velvet cakes were ready for rotation. While I was by the ovens, I turned on a second one to start heating up for the muffins. By the time I mixed the muffin batter and scooped it into the tray, the cakes were ready to be taken out of the oven. So, I took the cakes out of one oven and put the muffins in the other one.

Never one to stand idle in the kitchen, I put the cakes on a cooling rack and headed for the fridge to get butter and cream cheese for the icing. (Did I mention that I make all my icing from scratch?) Then I spent half of the remaining time that the muffins needed to bake looking for the confectioner's sugar, which I had forgotten to put away after I made the frosting for the cookies.

(Oh. I never did finish frosting those cookies.)

Once I found the sugar, finishing the icing was simply a matter of mixing the ingredients together until the mixture was light and fluffy. Of course, halfway through, the muffin timer went off and I had to take those out of the oven before I could continue. Finally, the icing was fluffy enough to satisfy me, and I put it in the fridge to stiffen up a bit before I used it.

I checked the clock on the wall and was pleased to see that it was about lunchtime. My stomach growled in agreement. However, that joy was diminished by the fact that I couldn't take my lunch break yet because I couldn't leave the kitchen unattended. My assistant would be here soon, though - that knowledge buoyed me up as I returned to frosting the cookies.

I had only frosted a quarter of the cookies by the time I started making the muffins, so I figured I'd get about three or four more done before I could take my lunch break. However, I soon realized that I had finished twice that many and my assistant _still_ wasn't here yet. My stomach was growling even louder than before, so I sampled another muffin before continuing to frost the cookies.

Finally, I heard the back door fly open and someone, panting heavily, dashed inside. I glanced over my shoulder toward the back room and sure enough, my assistant had just come in. She was bent over to catch her breath, and her brown hair was falling all over her shoulders and in front of her face. That was odd - normally she kept her hair pulled back so it wouldn't fall in any batter or anything.

Once she had finally recovered enough to speak, she looked up at me with her big gray eyes and cried, "I'm so, so sorry! I had a late night last night, and then when I turned off my alarm this morning, I closed my eyes for just a moment, and…"

"That's fine, Whitley, I understand," I said cheerfully. "It was just a mistake. It happens. Promise me you won't make a habit of it, and I promise I won't tell Pearl."

"I promise," she said solemnly, pressing a fist to her chest. "Thank you very much!"

I instructed Whitley to finish frosting the cookies while I ate lunch; when I finished, I'd be able to start frosting Missy Berlitz's cake. Just before one o'clock - when my lunch break would normally be over - Whitley came in carrying a big white cookie box. "Finished already?" I asked.

She nodded and opened the box, showing me all thirty-six star-shaped sugar cookies frosted with white and gold inside. "I noticed that there were some red velvet cakes on the cooling rack," she said. "Do you want me to start frosting those?"

"No!" I exclaimed, a little too quickly. "I mean…no, thank you. I'd like to make that order myself." I glanced around the room as if that would tell me what Whitley could do instead, and finally a thought struck me when I noticed the time on the clock. "Oh, Pearl will be starting his lunch break soon. You can start covering for him in the front now."

(I call Whitley _my_ assistant, but that's not entirely accurate. It's like this: I work in the back, Pearl works in the front, and Whitley works wherever she's needed.)

She nodded, a little reluctantly, and headed back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, Pearl entered and took a seat across from me; he heaved a sigh as he sat down, and rested his cheek on his palm. "Thank God for lunch break," he groaned. "I swear I've dealt with more irritating customers this morning than every day in this past month combined. Consider yourself lucky that you don't have to deal with consumers directly."

(Oh, I do consider myself lucky…because of the one consumer who I _did_ get to deal with.)

"Maybe you should hire someone to run the register for you," I suggested between bites. "Thanks to Whitley, the cookies for that birthday party tomorrow are finished, and I can start icing Missy Berlitz's cake after lunch."

"Maybe," Pearl said noncommittally. I got the feeling he wasn't really going to listen to my suggestion. (But when does he?) "But what about the other orders we got today?"

"What orders?"

Pearl frowned at me. "An apple pie and macarons…?"

I blinked back at him. "I never saw anything about that."

"I left them on the counter for you," he said crossly. "And I told you I was leaving them, too. You have to pay attention to these things."

His words stung a little because they were totally unwarranted, but I just chalked it up to Pearl's temper being tested by the testy customers this morning. Plus, I didn't want to argue about something so insignificant. So, I just started gathering up my trash and said, "Okay. I'll have Whitley get started on them after you finish your lunch."

I headed back into the kitchen and glanced at the two orders that Pearl had left for me. I hadn't noticed them before because Pearl had dropped them on the counter by the door to the main room, which I almost never pass by. The macarons were due to be picked up this evening, while the apple pie was due to be picked up tomorrow afternoon. The customer, a Ms. Cynthia Carolina, had requested that the pie still be hot when she picks it up, so there was no point in starting it now. But we still needed to make both Missy's cake and Mr. Fuego's macarons.

(That's a problem because Whitley's not an expert baker, and macarons are a rather advanced recipe. I always make macarons myself. When she comes back to help me in the kitchen, she has to be able to work on _something_ …)

When Whitley returned to the kitchen, I reluctantly gave her permission to work on frosting the cake. "But," I added, "if we get more orders before I'm done with the macarons, cover the cake and work on those instead. Got it?"

"Got it."

While Whitley picked up where I had left off spreading frosting over the first layer of the cake, I began the process of combining ingredients for the macarons. Not long after we started, Pearl popped in to say that he needed a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies - quick, easy, and something Whitley could do instead of working on Missy's cake. Granted, it wouldn't detain her for too long, but the less time she spent working on the cake, the more time I'd have to make it perfect.

Finally, just under three hours later, they were finished - three dozen lavender-honey macarons, neatly boxed and ready for pick-up. And just in time, too - Mr. Fuego came by about twenty minutes later to pick them up. Whitley, meanwhile, had finished assembling and frosting the cake. She hadn't done the decorative border around the bottom, but she had written the "Get Well Soon" on the top using red icing and left space for strawberry topping in the center and icing roses near the edges.

(That actually works out perfectly, since writing with icing is the one decorating skill that I'm nowhere near mastering. I probably would have asked her to do it for me anyways.)

Whitley was working on a loaf of banana bread for some customer who apparently had the patience to wait for the bread to be made, so I was able to pick up where she had left off on the cake easily. First, there was the matter of the icing border. Missy hadn't specified what exactly she wanted for the trim besides the nonpareils, so I went for a red border to match the message on top and contrast with the white nonpareils a bit more. I piped out the icing in little red stars all around the base of the cake and then placed one of the little pearl-shaped candies on the tip of each star.

Next, I did the simplest part of the order - the pile of candied strawberries in the center. Of course, it wasn't quite as easy as just dumping them in the middle and moving on - I had to arrange them in a neat pile, then pour a little bit of syrup over them without making a huge mess on top of the cake.

Then, I needed to make the roses to place on the top. I opted to make them using red-tinted fondant, since red seemed to be the main accent color for the cake. Like all good quality icing, I had to make the fondant from scratch. (It's not that difficult to make, though - it's basically just a mixture of gelatin, glucose, and glycerin with sugar kneaded in.) Once I rolled out the fondant, it was only a matter of cutting it into petals and sculpting it into the right shape. Then I placed the roses on top of the cake.

The final task was the one that I had been dreading the most; I had to sprinkle crushed pecans on the sides of the cake. Gravity was no longer my friend, and I wondered if I should have sprinked the pecans on before anything else - I didn't want to get crushed pecans on the trim, but that seemed impossible to avoid at this point. I ended up holding my hand an inch above the icing trim while I threw pinches of crushed pecans at the edges.

When I was about three-quarters of the way through this process, I became aware of Whitley loudly clearing her throat behind me. I carefully piled the rest of the pecans on the counter in front of me and turned to face her. "That's the cake for Ms. Berlitz, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"She, uh…she's here. To pick it up."

I winced; it was never a good thing when I wasn't finished with an order by pick-up time. The last thing I wanted was for Missy to think that I couldn't do something as simple as finishing a cake on time, especially when she paid extra to have it done by this evening. But I couldn't give her an unfinished product, and I didn't want to give her a bad quality product in the interest of getting it done in time. So, I asked Whitley to apologize to Missy on my behalf and tell her as much.

About a quarter of an hour later, I finished sprinkling on the pecans. Then, I took a moment to look at the cake overall. I couldn't say that it was the most aesthetically pleasing cake I had ever made, but it was the best I could do while meeting all of Missy's specifications. I carefully placed it in a cake box - with a clear top, of course. (I take great pride in the work I do, and I don't want to hide it from people.) Then I headed out into the main room.

Missy Berlitz was sitting down at one of the tables by the window, tapping her fingers on its surface and looking just as regal as I remembered her. She glanced over her shoulder as I approached, holding the cake box out in front of me. Her eyes widened when she saw the cake. She slowly rose to her feet, though her eyes remained fixated on it. She took the cake box from me carefully, keeping it level. I felt a little swell of pride at her obvious awe of my work.

"I'm sorry again about the delay, but I would hate to give you a rushed product," I said earnestly as she finally looked up at me. "I hope your friend will enjoy the cake."

"Y-yeah…" she said uncertainly, quickly dropping her gaze.

The change in her demeanor was obvious and so starkly contrasted to the confident woman that I saw this morning that I couldn't help but ask, "Is something wrong?" I could think of several different possibilities, not all of which concerned me, but if it did I'd like to help her however I could. I hated to see her looking so uncomfortable.

Her lower lip quivered a little, and she looked back down at the cake. "It…it's beautiful. I'm sorry," she whispered, so softly that I could barely hear her. I wasn't even sure that I had heard her correctly - why would she apologize for the fact that I made the cake beautiful? That's just what I do.

Finally, she met my eyes again with all the haughty confidence of that morning. Yet, there was still a softness to them that hadn't been there before.

Then her next words left me in as much shock as she had been in when I brought out the cake.

"When do you get off work? I need to talk to you."

Missy Berlitz wanted to talk to _me_? Just because I made her a cake?

(I mean, I did make the cake with extra care because it was for her, but I didn't really expect her to notice me because of it. I just wanted her to be happy with the cake…and if that made her want to grace our little bakery with her presence more often, all the better.)

I quickly brushed away the doubt, though. The _why_ wasn't as important as the fact that _she asked to talk to me_ , and she was waiting for an answer. "I, um, yes," I stammered out. "Um, we close at 8, but there are still things I have to take care of after we close…"

"We should meet here at 8:30, then," she said decisively.

I took a breath to calm myself, knowing that I wouldn't make a good impression if I kept stuttering like an idiot. "Pearl will still be cleaning up in here then," I said. "The back room is more private…unless, um, you don't mind him overhearing," I added, flushing slightly.

"No, that will be better," Missy replied.

"I can…meet you at the back door and let you in?"

"Perfect," she said. She gave me a soft little smile and added, "Thank you for the cake…Dia. I will see you again soon."

"See you soon," I echoed. The little bell above the door jingled as I held the door open for her, and I watched her stride along the sidewalk for a bit longer than necessary before heading back inside. The memory of that smile still lingered in my mind long after she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're interested in making some of the stuff that Dia and Whitley make in this chapter for yourself, I thought I'd link to the recipes that I used for reference!  
> For the cake and frosting: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/southern-red-velvet-cake-recipe-2011892  
> For the fondant icing: https://www.biggerbolderbaking.com/how-to-make-rolled-fondant/  
> For the fondant flowers: https://www.craftsy.com/blog/2016/09/easy-fondant-flowers/


	3. Her True Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I actually managed to update when I said I would! *confetti* But really, I just wanted to update before I get Ultra Moon because that's probably gonna take up most of my free time over the next week. I'm liking this Friday upload schedule though, so maybe I'll get the next chapter out two Fridays from now? We'll see.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is a little shorter than last week's but it's got a lot more plot. So, let's see what definitely-not-Platinum wants to talk about...

As soon as the door closed, Pearl asked, “What was _that_ about?”

I jumped. Pearl had evidently moved from behind the counter to right behind me while I was watching Missy leave, when I had thought he was still ringing up another customer’s purchase. But no, there weren’t any customers left in the store now. (And Pearl almost never comes out from behind the counter when we have customers.)

I wasn’t sure if Pearl was waiting for an answer or not, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give him one. “She wants to talk to me,” I said. “I don’t know why.”

Pearl scowled. “Typical rich girl. Never gives any more information than she has to because she thinks the lowly commoners can’t comprehend it.”

(Oh, I think Missy is anything but _typical_.)

“Let me know what she says after your talk. And, let me offer you a piece of advice,” Pearl added, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If she tries to make some kind of deal with you, wait to accept it until you’ve had the chance to talk with me about it first. Rich people will see people like you and me as expendable pawns – just a means to an end. I don’t want you to be used like that, Dia.”

“Missy wouldn’t do that,” I protested.

“You’ve spoken to her for all of five minutes,” Pearl said. “You can’t know what she would or wouldn’t do just from that.”

“I’m not twelve years old, Pearl,” I retorted, trying not to pout. (That’ll kind of undermine my point, won’t it?) “I can make decisions for myself.”

“I’m just looking out for you, buddy. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Pearl nodded and squeezed my shoulder before heading back to the counter. I lagged behind him but continued into the kitchen when he split away towards the register. Whitley was cleaning up the supplies I had left out after decorating Missy’s cake. I quickly apologized for leaving the mess, thanked her for cleaning it up, and started to help her finish.

The next hour seemed to crawl by like a wounded Slowpoke. We weren’t getting any more orders coming in, so Whitley offered to start preparing the apple pie that we needed to make tomorrow. The crust would get soggy if she left the filling in it overnight, but she could at least prepare the crust and filling to expedite the process tomorrow.

I was perfectly happy to let her handle that, because my mind was far away from baking; I couldn’t stop thinking about Missy and wondering what she might want to talk to me about. Whatever Pearl said, I was confident in my assessment of Missy’s character – that she wouldn’t try to use me like a pawn in some elaborate real-life chess game. Pearl hadn’t seen the look in those golden eyes of hers when she smiled at me – something like sorrow, sincerity, and softness all at once. Anyone with truly malicious intent wouldn’t show their emotions that transparently.

Yet, what _was_ her true purpose? I suspected that it didn’t have anything to do with the cake, at least. She may have been focused on the cake at first, but once she really started talking to me she didn’t even spare it a glance. However, beyond that, I didn’t have any idea what she wanted.

I sighed. Eight-thirty couldn’t come fast enough.

Well, that was what I thought, anyways. But when the agreed-upon time finally arrived, I was knee-deep with Whitley in a pile of cake pans, cookie trays, and other baking dishes that we were attempting to organize. The noise we were making drowned out the gentle rapping on the door at first, and it was only by some divine intervention that Whitley managed to hear the knocking and alert me to it.

“Do you hear that sound, Diamond?” she asked, putting out a hand to halt my progress in stacking a pile of similarly-shaped pans together. “I think someone’s knocking on the back door.”

It took me a few moments to remember why I had been eagerly awaiting those knocks half an hour before. “Oh, no! I completely forgot about my meeting with Missy!” I cried, scrambling to my feet and ruining all the progress we’d made organizing the baking dishes in the process.

Missy jerked back quickly when I flung the door open. (I must have startled her by how suddenly I answered it.) “Missy! You’re here,” I said eagerly. “Come in, come in!”

I ushered her inside and closed the door gently behind her, then gestured to one of the chairs at the table. She pursed her lips together pensively as she sat down. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile as I sat down across from her, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I tried a slice of the cake after I got home,” she said. “It’s…incredibly delicious.”

My usual thrill of gratitude at the praise was shafted by confusion at her comment. “What about your friend? Didn’t you want them to see it first?” I asked.

Missy sighed and, instead of answering me, reached into a pocket of her thin pink jacket and pulled out a crisply folded note. She unfolded the note and glanced over it. “It’s easiest for me to organize my thoughts when I have them written down,” she said by way of explanation.

Then, having remembered what exactly she wanted to say, she looked back up at me and explained, “I did not order that cake to give to anyone. I was asked by a friend to order a complicated cake so that you would not be able to complete it on time.”

I blinked. “Why would he do that?”

“ _She_ recently started up a bakery of her own,” Missy corrected me, “after an acquaintance bet her that she could not successfully run a business. But she has not been able to turn a profit, so she thought that it would be easier if she could… _discourage_ some of her competitors. So, she asked a few other friends and me to come and give you bad business, to lower your morale and your overall customer satisfaction, too.”

“But that’s… _not right_ ,” I said fervently, for lack of a better word.

“I realize that now,” Missy replied, glancing down at the note again. “However, she is my friend, and I thought it might be…thrilling, in a sense, particularly considering what she wanted me to do. In the event that you managed to finish the cake in time, I was supposed to find some fault with it and then throw it at you before storming out of the bakery. We liked the irony of you baking your own ‘Get Well Soon’ cake.” Her gaze flickered back up to me to gauge my reaction.

Honestly, I was appalled that someone would even _think_ about doing that to someone else. Wasting my time and resources, and then making a big scene out of it…that’d just be _cruel_. And all because she was envious of our success? There are much nicer and much more effective ways to make a business more successful. (Pearl can explain them much better than I can. He understands all that economics stuff.)

But – Missy hadn’t gone through with it. She’d even sampled some of the cake before she came back here. That’s the important part, right? Everybody _thinks_ about doing bad things sometimes, but that doesn’t automatically make them bad. What they _do_ determines that.

“I’m glad that you didn’t,” I finally said.

“How could I, when I realized just what I had made you do?” Missy said with a sigh. “You made a beautiful cake that I intended to immediately destroy, you were apologetic about being delayed in completing a cake that was meant to be incompletable, and you sincerely hoped the recipient would enjoy the cake that I was about to throw in your face. To follow through with my instructions then would be absolutely despicable.”

She looked back down at the paper and sighed again. “My parents did raise me to treat others with at least some level of civility, regardless of their social status,” she said. “However, I lose sight of that sometimes when I interact with my friends. Really, it is I who should be apologizing to you for taking time away from other, more important tasks and putting you under unnecessary pressure. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course!” I replied immediately.

“Thank you,” she said, giving me another one of those soft smiles that I was growing to like so much.

She made to get up from the table, but I wasn’t finished yet. “Hold on,” I said, placing a hand over hers. My skin tingled at the contact, and I pulled my hand back, but I kept my eyes firmly locked on hers until I was certain that she wasn’t going to leave. “I know _you’re_ not going to do this again, but what about your friends? Are they still going to try to sabotage us?”

“I…well.” She pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair. “I can talk to them, but I cannot guarantee anything. You must understand, they are not like you. They cannot be easily persuaded to change their thoughts on the matter.”

I flinched slightly at her comparison, but she seemed not to notice. “Well, I would appreciate it a lot if you tried,” I said. On an impulse, I added, “And you’ll tell me how it goes after you talk to them, won’t you?”

She hesitated to reply, and for a few heart-pounding moments I was afraid that she would say no – that a beautiful, rich girl like her wouldn’t want anything more to do with an ordinary baker like me. Finally, she said, “I suppose that can be arranged.”

I smiled broadly. “Thank you. Really. For everything!”

A mischievous grin suddenly slid onto her face. “I would certainly return for another taste of one of those delicious sweets of yours,” she said.

“I suppose that can be arranged,” I chuckled.

With the conversation just about finished, I didn’t stop Missy from standing up this time. In fact, I stood up with her, and walked with her to the door. I would have walked her to the sidewalk, too, if she hadn’t stopped me. “I will be fine, Dia. I have Pokémon with me. They will protect me.”

“It’s Diamond,” I said suddenly. (I’m not sure if she knew that already, but I felt compelled to make sure she did.) “Dia’s my nickname, but my full name is Diamond.”

Missy nodded, and after a moment’s pause, she added, “Likewise, I am Platinum.”

My brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Missy is the name that I give to commoners – to strangers. To people I do not know,” she explained. “But my real name is Platinum Berlitz, and I would prefer that you call me by that name.”

(I’ll admit, I was surprised to learn that Missy isn’t her real name. But her real name… _Platinum Berlitz_ …such a refined name for a refined girl like her. It suits her perfectly.)

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Platinum,” I said with a smile.

“I will see you tomorrow, Diamond,” she echoed softly, before gracefully breezing out the door.


	4. The Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so last week was a little rough for me with college deadlines and trying to return to the world after effectively ignoring it for a week. I also wanted to plan out the next chapter before I finished this one just so I could make sure I wasn't writing myself into a corner, which delayed this one a little more. But the good news is, the next chapter's all planned so it shouldn't take a whole week to write! Anyways, that's not what you came here to read, right? Let's see how this game plays out...
> 
> (Oh, and Pearl uses some strong language in this chapter. It's nothing terribly offensive, but I thought I'd warn you.)

After Platinum left, I headed back to the kitchen where I found Pearl and Whitley waiting for me. They had already finished cleaning up, and now wanted to know what Platinum had come to talk to me about. (I’ll admit I was a little surprised at first that they were both curious about it, but I suppose it’s not every day that someone from one of the richest families in town comes calling on me.)

I told them exactly what Platinum had said, about what her friends were doing and what she was supposed to do and why she didn’t do it, but I called her Missy the whole time and left out the part where she told me her real name. It seemed to be a valuable piece of information to her, and she was showing a great deal of trust in me by entrusting that information to me. I didn’t want to blab it to everyone else and make her regret telling me. (In fact, I don’t think I’ll share it with anyone at all unless she says it’s okay.)

When I finished, Whitley simply stared at me in shock. Pearl, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to punch something, and I took a step away from him to make sure it wouldn’t be me. He ended up deciding to just slam his fist down on the counter as he shouted, “What the hell! Assholes!”

I gave him a look, and he sighed, exhaling air and tension from his body. (Pearl knows I don’t like it when he uses bad language.) “Sorry, had to get that out,” he said. He took on a pensive look and added, “That explains why I had so many dissatisfied customers today. But…” He scowled. “It sucks that we don’t really know who all is involved, even though I’ve probably met them all. We can’t assume that every customer who gave us a hard time today is connected to the situation.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “Missy will talk to her friend and then we won’t have to deal with it anymore. Revenge isn’t as important as making sure that it stops.”

“Did she say when she would talk to her friend about it?” Whitley asked.

I shook my head. “She just said that she would come by sometime tomorrow and tell me how it went.”

Pearl sighed. “So now we’re all playing the waiting game again.”

Unfortunately, I am not very good at the waiting game.

First, I arrived at 8 am to start baking fresh muffins and pastries for the new day. But I couldn’t get as absorbed in my cooking as I normally do; my mind kept drifting to the events of yesterday and I kept having to pull myself out of my thoughts and focus on the task at hand. So, as opening time approached, I was way behind schedule to bake everything I needed to.

Then, when Whitley arrived a few minutes after we opened, she found me pulling ingredients for cookie dough together in a panic. “Wh-what’s the matter?” she asked frantically.

“The cookies you finished yesterday – those were the ones for a graduation party this afternoon!” I cried. “I never even baked the cookies for the birthday party!”

“Oh,” she said, sounding relieved.  (It was quite the opposite of my frenetic state.) “You mean these cookies?”

She pulled a box out of the fridge and let me look inside. “That’s – when did you do this?” I asked.

“I spotted that order on the counter yesterday while you were decorating Ms. Berlitz’s cake and did it myself,” Whitley said. “You were too absorbed in what you were doing to notice, I suppose.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly, scooting out of the pantry. “Thank you.” But I didn’t get up off the floor immediately; Whitley’s comment renewed the nervous anticipation for Platinum’s return that bubbled in my gut. It wasn’t until Whitley uncertainly called my name and asked me if I was going to get to work that I scrambled to my feet and attempted to put my mind back on baking.

However, the next couple of hours were nothing but a dazed blur. I knew that Whitley and I had received a few orders, delivered a few orders, and made some more baked goods for the shop, but I didn’t really remember it happening. My mind was too busy replaying moments from the previous night and pondering how I should act when Platinum arrived today to take note of what I was doing.

She hadn’t arrived by the time I took my lunch break, and I was starting to worry. What if she had been mugged or kidnapped while she was walking home last night? What if her parents had found out about what she and her friends were doing and grounded her as punishment? Or, more reasonably, what if she had simply changed her mind and never went to talk to her friend at all? These thoughts plagued my mind all throughout lunch.

(But at least they didn’t _stop_ me from enjoying my lunch. Like Pearl says, nothing short of a nuclear war could get between me and food.)

As I was heading back into the kitchen, I ran into Pearl, who looked like he was about to take his lunch break. However, he also looked like he had something on his mind – his brow was furrowed, and he was frowning. “Dia,” he began, “are you okay?”

(Well, that’s certainly not what I expected him to say.)

“Whitley says you’ve been acting weird today,” Pearl continued. “Are you sick or something?”

“I’m fine!” I replied immediately.

“She went to the bathroom and when she came back you were eating the cookie dough that you were supposed to be rolling into a cookie cake.”

“I was…sampling it.”

“Does that normally involve eating so much dough that there’s barely enough left over for the cake itself?”

I blinked. “Did I really eat that much?”

“Yes, Dia,” Pearl said, exasperated. “Maybe you just need to go home and get some rest. You’ve been working pretty hard lately, and it might be catching up to you.”

“B-but I can’t leave!” I protested. “Pl…plus, Missy is coming today and I have to meet her!”

(Whew. Almost gave away her name there.)

“Is that what this is about?” Pearl sighed, shaking his head. “Getting this distracted over a rich girl is always a bad sign, Dia. But,” he said quickly, silencing my complaint, “I know I can’t just force you to forget about her. So you really should go home and let Whitley take over the kitchen for the rest of the day.”

“But what if…Whitley can’t handle all the orders?” I objected. “I have to be here, Pearl…”

“Dia, with how distracted you are today you’re gonna hurt us more than you help us,” Pearl said candidly. “It won’t matter that Missy’s gotten her friends to stop sabotaging us if you drag us down yourself. Look, I’ll call you after I talk to her and tell you what she says, okay? If she wants to talk to you in person, I’ll send her your way.”

I sighed and finally conceded defeat. This argument really wasn’t worth it. But as I was starting to gather up my things, Pearl left me with one final reminder: “I just want you to remember, Dia…rich people are notoriously arrogant. They usually have little regard for the lower classes. Some of them are just clever enough to put up a facade of actually caring.”

* * *

It was probably better for both the bakery and me that I went home early. I didn’t attempt to use work as a distraction from my thoughts; instead, I spent time playing with my Pokémon – which soon proved to be a much better distraction, anyways. I took a bag of extra muffins that I had brought home from the bakery and tossed them in the air for Lax, my Munchlax, and Kit, my Lickilicky, to catch. It was a game we usually played at the end of the day with all the food Pearl and I would have thrown away otherwise.

(Kit has the advantage because he can catch things with his long tongue, but Lax’s bottomless pit of a stomach motivates him to try some creative methods to get to the food first. We normally play it outside because they can get competitive. The only inconvenience is that my house backs up to a major road, so the road noise is a little loud sometimes.)

I didn’t want to miss Pearl’s call, if he called while we were playing, so I decided to bring the game inside this time. Lax quickly discovered that he could use the furniture to gain a lot of height, but I had to ban that practice after he took a huge leap off the back of the sofa to grab a banana muffin in midair and crash-landed on one of my favorite Proteam Omega action figures, breaking it.

(Yes, I’m an adult and I’m still a fan of Proteam Omega. You have a problem with that?)

So anyways, after I had properly mourned the loss of the first Demon Brioche figure I ever bought, I banned Lax from using the furniture to catch muffins. I then wondered if maybe I shouldn’t play the game inside after all – but I didn’t dare risk missing Pearl’s call, and I couldn’t just stop the game now when Lax and Kit were so fired up. So, I decided to quickly move all the valuables lying around the living room so that they wouldn’t get accidentally destroyed.

(Maybe I should have done that before we started playing. Well, things are always clearer in hindsight.)

On the end table by the sofa, I picked up a picture of my mother that Lax had nearly knocked over earlier. The picture was from her youth, during the peak of her career as a Pokémon Coordinator; she was showing off a Ribbon she had just won in a Super Contest with her Glameow. Glameow was winding herself around my mother’s legs while she held up the Ribbon, and she had a huge grin on her face.

(I wonder if I can get a picture of Platinum smiling, too?)

Suddenly, the phone rang. I dropped the photo back on the table instantly and scrambled over to the telephone table, between the living room and the kitchen. (Why didn’t I think to move the phone closer? I knew I was expecting a phone call…I always think of these things _after_ they’re relevant.) I picked up the phone without even looking at the caller ID to see that the number didn’t belong to the bakery. “Hi,” I said breathlessly. I was about to continue and ask what Platinum had to say, but the voice on the other side of the line responded before I could.

“Diamond.” The voice was polite, calm, and elegantly gentle. Exactly the opposite of Pearl’s, but still breathtakingly familiar. I nearly dropped the phone in shock, and I certainly couldn’t find any words to reply. Evidently, I was silent for a little too long, though, because she repeated, “Diamond? Hello?”

“Platinum. I’m here,” I said in a rush. Heaven forbid she think I hung up on her after she bothered to _call my house_ … “How did you get this number?”

(Perhaps not the greatest starting line, but it was the best I could think of. And it’s a reasonable thing to ask, right?)

“Pearl gave it to me,” she replied, “after I called the bakery and informed him of this morning’s events.”

“Thank you, Pearl,” I whispered to myself. “What were…this morning’s events?” I asked Platinum.

“I confronted my acquaintance about her sabotage plot,” she explained. “She challenged me to a Pokémon battle. If I won, she would cease her underhanded attempts to undermine your business. If she won, she would continue her assault – and I would have to continue to assist her.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t…”

“The fate of her business was potentially at stake,” Platinum said. “It was only fair that I risk something important as well. Of course, in the end it did not matter what I stood to lose,” she added smugly, “as I defeated her quite readily.”

“Yay!” I said cheerfully. “Good job!”

“Thank you,” she replied.

“But,” I continued, “weren’t you going to stop by the bakery to tell us what happened? Why did you call instead?”

There was a sigh and silence from the other side of the line. “I made an unfortunate error during the battle,” Platinum finally responded, “which resulted in my injury. I am required to stay in bed for now to expedite my healing.”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry,” I cried. “Is there any way I can help?”

“Fret not,” she said. “My family’s butler is taking excellent care of me. I shall recover within a few days’ time.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped myself and suddenly grinned. “I’d wish you to get well soon, but I just made you a cake expressing that sentiment yesterday.”

Platinum giggled. However, the sound was cut off by a sharp intake of breath. “Are you okay?” I asked concernedly.

“I am still a little sore,” she admitted. “It may be beneficial to stop talking and get some rest.”

“You should,” I agreed. “Thank you for calling me.”

“It was merely the polite thing to do,” she replied. Before I could say anything else, she hung up.

I held the phone to my ear for a few moments more before slowly lowering it down to my side. She’d never said anything about when she’d call me back, if she would at all, and she didn’t give me the chance to ask about it. However, I didn’t want to call her back when she had just asked me to stop talking to her and let her rest.

But the one thing I absolutely couldn’t do was let the beautiful Platinum Berlitz slip out of my life just as quickly as she had walked into it.

Suddenly, the phone in my hand rang again. I checked the caller ID before I answered the phone – “DP BAKR”. So, it really was Pearl this time.

“I’m guessing you talked to Missy?” Pearl asked me over the phone.

“Yeah,” I said.

“She asked for you first thing, you know,” he said. “I told her that you’d gone home early. Then she asked for your phone number, but there was no way I’d do that if I didn’t know why she couldn’t go see you in person. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t trying to weasel her way out of having to actually leave her comfortable little mansion when she said she’d stop by in person.” I could practically hear Pearl’s scowl. “She didn’t even tell me anything about how the confrontation with her friend went, even though it affects me more than it affects you. She’s such a pain in the…well, you know. What did she tell you?”

“Well, she said she got injured while she was fighting her friend who owns the bakery,” I said.

Pearl scoffed. “See, all she told me was that she got injured in a battle. She didn’t say anything about who she was fighting or why.” He paused. “Keep going.”

“She won the battle, so her friends are gonna stop sabotaging us now. But…” I folded my free arm across my chest. “I can’t help but feel responsible for it. Her getting injured, I mean. I was the one who insisted that she confront them, after all.”

“And what would we do if she hadn’t?” Pearl said. “We still don’t know who these friends are. If we couldn’t find them, we’d just have to endure waves of entitled customers until they got tired of this little game.”

“I know, but still,” I sighed. “She didn’t sound very good over the phone. I’m worried about her.”

“So? There’s not much you can do about it.”

“Yes, there is,” I said. I lifted my chin up high and declared what I had decided from the moment that she hung up the phone. “I’m going to go visit her.”

“Dia, that’s ridiculous,” Pearl scolded me. “Do you even know where she lives?”

“No,” I replied, “but I can figure it out.”

“The address of the Berlitz estate isn’t online or in the phonebooks or anything,” Pearl informed me. “They value their privacy.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said, thinking of how Platinum was keeping her name a secret. “I’ll just have to find it another way.”

Pearl sighed. “Good luck finding it, then. You’re gonna need it.”


	5. In Another World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter took a lot longer to finish than I expected. But this is the longest chapter to date, so I guess it makes sense that it would take longer to write. I had a lot of fun letting Dia take an active rather than a passive role in his story, so I hope you enjoy this as well!

After Pearl hung up, I tossed the last two muffins to Lax and Kit to fight over. Thanks to Kit, I wasn’t worried about where to start in my search for the Berlitz mansion. He’d given me experience with finding people with little-to-no information to go off of, and that experience also meant that I knew where I could go to find more information about people.

See, I met Kit a long time ago when he was causing trouble for people in town by stealing and hoarding everyone's things. After he stole something of mine, I managed to track him down and catch him, but that also meant it was now my responsibility as his Trainer to help Kit return all the items he had stolen. So, the two of us had to go around and track down the owners of all the items, and most of them didn’t have any obvious identification on them. (It took a few days to return everything.)

One of the people I returned an item to was a friendly courier by the name of Sun, whom I’ve kept in contact with since then. If anyone I knew would be able to give me clues to the location of the Berlitz estate, it’d be him. He might have delivered something to the estate before, and if not, he could probably tell me who might know where it is. So, I gave Sun a call.

“Afternoon, Diamond!” Sun said gleefully as soon as he answered the phone. “How’s it going? Need something delivered?"

(Sun’s always taking every opportunity he can get to make money. He’s been working for years to save up a million yen, though he refuses to tell me why he needs it.)

“Not today, unfortunately,” I said. “I was actually calling to pick your brain for a few moments. Have you ever delivered anything to the Berlitz estate?”

“Oh, I wish,” Sun sighed dramatically. “If I ever got hired by the Berlitz family, I’d get paid so much money that I’d never need to run another errand again. What’s a million yen to someone worth a few hundred million?” He sighed again, and I got the feeling that it wasn’t the first time he’d fantasized about this. Then, he suddenly added excitedly, “But why do you ask; are they looking for a courier?”

I shook my head once before I remembered that Sun couldn’t see me. “Not that I know,” I said. “But yesterday one of them came to my bakery and ordered a cake.”

“They asked you to deliver a cake to their estate but they didn’t bother to tell you where their estate is?” Sun asked incredulously.

“No, that’s not it,” I quickly corrected him. “She already came to pick up the cake. But she got injured in a Pokémon battle today, so I want to visit her. Because it was my fault. Which means I need to know where she lives.”

(Hmm. That sounded a lot better in my head.)

There was silence from the other side of the line. I couldn’t tell if Sun was considering how to respond or just silently judging me for how awkward my explanation was. Finally, he said, “Well, I’ve never been to the Berlitz estate myself, but I’ve heard some rumors and stories about it from people who supposedly have. I’ve heard it’s located in Sandgem Oaks – you know, that wealthy neighborhood on the south side of town?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “That’s where I figured I’d start looking if you didn’t know anything.”

“Well, hey, I’m not done!” Sun objected. “The estate’s really big – at least a few acres, from what I’ve heard. So it won't have any close neighbors.” He paused. “Oh, and they don’t like trespassers. So don’t go traipsing about on their land uninvited, okay?” he added cheekily.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, grinning. “Thanks for your help!”

“Not a problem! But hey, if when you’re there, the subject happens to turn to, say, package delivery or something…make sure to tell them that you know a guy, alright?” Sun said giddily. “Assuming you can find the estate without getting kicked out right away, that is.”

After he hung up, I returned Lax and Kit and got ready to go to Sandgem Oaks. It was only mid-afternoon, thankfully – I didn’t want to go out searching after nightfall. I’m not usually the kind of guy to be fussy about my appearance, but I wanted to look a little nice for my first time seeing Platinum outside of work. I changed into a fresh T-shirt that wasn’t wrinkled and ran a comb through my hair. Perfect!

On second thought, it was a bit colder now than it had been when I walked home earlier. I added a light black jacket and my favorite red scarf to my ensemble before heading out.

I knew _how_ to get to Sandgem Oaks, but I’d never _been_ to the neighborhood before. I was greeted by retention ponds on either side of the road with a big fountain in the middle of each. There were also big illuminated stone signs sporting festive wreaths to celebrate the season in front of both. Luckily, it wasn’t a gated community, or my surprise visit plan would have been a bust; I was able to walk right in without even encountering anyone.

Even knowing that I was walking into a rich neighborhood, I couldn't help gaping at all the huge houses around me. Two- and even three-story abodes lined the streets, with white or tan facades that looked as pristine as if they had just been built. (Maybe they had.) Some had balconies on every upper-floor window, and some had stone columns framing their front door. All their front doors were double doors, and the houses themselves looked to be almost twice as wide as mine, or wider.

Most of them had at least a two-car garage with some kind of awning in front of it; some of them even had electric gates across the driveway to keep people out. Almost every concrete pathway was lined with cobblestone, while the landscaping varied from breathtakingly elaborate to simple but immaculately uniform. But one thing I noticed consistently was that, aside from one mansion with a huge circular drive in front, their front lawns were sized proportional to their houses – which meant none of these could be the Berlitz estate.

As I swept my gaze along the sidewalk, I saw a man jogging towards me alongside a blue Pokémon with black around its eyes, ears, and paws. A Riolu – I’d seen one before, but they were still rare in Sinnoh. I smiled and said “Afternoon!” as he passed by, but he didn’t acknowledge me at all. (Some people just get really absorbed in their exercise, I guess.)

Eventually, I wound up on a path that ran next to a golf course, though I didn’t see anyone out golfing today. I suddenly heard a loud, high-pitched yapping behind me. I turned around to see a young guy walking two dog Pokémon I’d never seen before. One was this tiny little thing, maybe a foot tall or so, with tan and black fur and a lot of energy – the source of the yapping. The other was twice its size, similarly colored but with lighter-colored fur around its face that looked like bushy eyebrows and a moustache.

The smaller Pokémon was straining on its leash to get to me. “Lillipup, heel,” the guy told it crossly. Lillipup eagerly bounded back to the man’s side, and he continued walking, giving me a wide berth. (I don’t fault him for it – who wants to keep fighting against their Pokémon like that?)

Shortly afterwards, I saw a woman walking on the other side of the street with three dog Pokémon that had similar body shapes, but still looked vastly different from each other. They all had fluffy white fur around their heads and necks and black skin underneath, but each one had different secondary fur colors, and their fur was styled in different shapes on their forehead and tail. One had pink fur styled in hearts, one had blue fur styled in stars, and one had orange fur styled in diamonds. I assumed she paid some professional to style their fur.

This thought, though, only fueled my growing sense of unease at being here. I was out of my element – among people who could afford to import rare and exotic Pokémon like Riolu and Lillipup and those other ones I didn’t recognize, just to keep them as pets. These people had a totally different definition of normal, and I didn’t understand it – or fit it, probably. Maybe that’s why they treated me so coldly.

I stopped walking and stared down at my feet. If I didn’t fit in here, then what was I doing here in the first place? Why would Platinum want anything to do with me? I remembered Pearl’s warning about rich people having little regard for the lower classes. Pearl was usually right about these kinds of things; maybe I should have listened to him…

But that was exactly why I _had_ to go see her. Maybe she didn’t think anything of people from lower social strata, and maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything about when I would see her again. But I couldn’t let that dissuade me from doing what I knew was the right thing – to visit her while she was injured and show her that I cared. It didn’t matter if she wanted me there or not; _I_ wanted to be there, so be there I would.

Strengthened with my new resolve, I held my head high and strode onward. I found a path that led to the other side of the golf course, and I took it, noticing that the properties on the other side looked to be more spaced out. I was certain that it was a step in the right direction at the very least.

On the other side, there was a little boy walking slowly on the sidewalk with an orange puppy Pokémon by his side. His head was hanging down; it looked like he had been crying. “Hey,” I said gently. He ducked his head lower, like he was trying to ignore me. “Hey, little boy. Is everything okay?”

The little boy stopped and shook his head, but I didn’t prompt him any further. If he didn’t want to explain, he would have kept walking; he probably needed to collect himself before he could speak. Sure enough, after he rubbed his eyes a little bit he sniffled, “I…I was playing ball with Growlithe,” he gestured to the Pokémon at his side, “and he hit the ball too high, and it got stuck in a tree, on somebody else’s property.”

“And you couldn’t climb the tree?” I guessed.

The boy shook his head again. “It’s behind a wall that’s too tall to climb. I tried asking the owners if they could get it back for me, but they refused…”

I smiled reassuringly at him. “I’ll help you get it back,” I said. The boy finally looked up at me and I could see the hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. “Can you show me where it got stuck?” I asked.

He nodded and turned around, leading me past a few expansive properties along the street. The road started to curve, and once we had rounded the bend I could see that the road ended at a street that ran perpendicular to it and had a red brick wall running parallel to it. After we crossed the intersecting street, I realized the wall was a lot taller than it looked at a distance – two or three times my height. I could barely see the branches of a row of oak trees sticking out from above the top of the wall.

The boy led me to the left, and we walked next to the wall for a few hundred feet. Finally, he stopped and looked up into the clusters of tree branches above us, scratching his cheek with a finger. “Um, I think it was somewhere around here,” he said. He pointed to the property across the street. “I remember it was across from that house.”

I peered into the trees above us, searching for a round shape that didn’t belong there. But I didn’t see anything. “What color is your ball?” I asked, thinking it might be blending in with the red and orange leaves.

“It’s blue,” he said.

(So much for that idea.)

As I tried to figure out how else we could locate the ball, the boy’s Growlithe suddenly started to bark. “What is it, buddy?” the boy asked, running to his side. He glanced up into the tree that Growlithe was standing under and his face suddenly lit up. “There it is! That’s my ball!”

I hurried over to him and looked up to where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a round, royal blue, rubber ball stuck in the branches on the other side of the wall. “Ok, I see it,” I said, pulling out a Poké Ball. “Kit, give me a boost!”

Kit wrapped his long tongue around me and lifted me up. Its sticky saliva made my jacket a little damp, but it would dry quickly. He put me down on top of the wall and once I had steadied myself, I looked up and located the ball again. It was a little further away from the wall than I realized.

I stood as close to the edge of the wall as I could manage and stretched my arm towards the ball, but I couldn’t quite reach it. I inched a little closer to the edge, and my fingers were finally close enough to touch it – but still not enough to grab it. However, I realized that if I held on to another branch, I could lean out a little further without falling. I grabbed another branch – making sure that it wasn’t connected to the branch with the ball in it, lest I accidentally shake the ball out – and finally, I was able to wrap my fingers around the ball.

“I got it!” I exclaimed triumphantly.

Unfortunately, there was a flaw in my plan. I had to push myself back upright using only force I exerted on the branch in my left hand, which wasn’t terribly sturdy. And all the while, my shoes were sliding down the edge of the wall. In a panic, I swung my free arm around while attempting to push on the branch–

–and I slipped off the wall and fell to the ground on the other side.

“Are you okay?” I heard the little boy call out, accompanied by a concerned cry from Kit. I couldn’t answer for a few moments. I was still lying on my back, and I was trying to catch my breath.

Finally, I managed to gather enough breath to reply, “I’m fine! And I have your ball, too!”

“Great! But…” The boy paused. “How are you going to get back over? Can you climb the tree from that side?”

“Um, no,” I said, without looking at the tree. “I can’t. I’ll have to find another way off the property.”

(I never actually learned how to climb trees. I was scared of heights when I was a little kid, and since I got over that I’ve never had a reason to do it.)

“Well, can you at least give me my ball back?” the boy asked.

“I can try,” I said.

I got to my feet and stepped away from the tree that the ball originally got stuck in. After undershooting a couple of times, I finally managed to get the ball over the wall. Growlithe's excited barking told me that it had made it all the way over, and then the boy chimed in with a, “Thanks, mister!”

“Not a problem!” I said. “But, if you could do me a favor in return…do you know where the Berlitz estate is?”

The boy didn’t respond. He probably took off as soon as he got his ball back. Perhaps I should have asked him about the Berlitz estate earlier, but in my drive to help him out I totally forgot about why I came to this neighborhood in the first place.

With a sigh, I told Kit to wait for me on the other side of the wall and finally turned around to take a good look at the property I had accidentally fallen into. Once again, I was in awe – this place looked more like a public park than someone’s backyard. There were paved stone pathways all throughout, lined with tiny spherical lamps to light up the path at night. Along the outermost path, there were short bushes neatly trimmed into oval shapes, and the rest of the grass was dotted with the occasional hedge or grove of trees. I couldn’t even see the owners’ mansion due to a combination of it being far away and blocked by trees. Or at least, that’s what I assumed, anyway – it certainly couldn’t be due to a lack of size.

I wandered along the outer path, crossing a bridge over a stream that ran through the property. It appeared to feed into a little lake nearby and come from a little gap in the wall that was blocked by a few iron bars. No possible exit there. I kept going and found myself in a little garden filled with flowers that I couldn’t name. They were gorgeous, but it would be rude to pick any. And I couldn’t use flowers to get off this property, anyways.

However, I got distracted by the flowers for a little too long – as I turned to leave, someone suddenly shouted behind me, “Halt!”

I turned around and had to cover my eyes because there was a blinding light shining in my face. It was like I was staring into the sun, except I knew that couldn’t be the case because the sun was setting to my left. When the light finally faded, I lowered my hand and saw that I was being confronted by a tall old man with a bushy white moustache. The two Pokémon by his side looked rather aquatic, and each had two antennae with softly glowing yellow orbs on the end. They had to have been the source of that bright light.

However, before I could say anything, the old man pointed an angry finger at me and exclaimed, “Intruders are not tolerated here! Chinchou, attack!”

The two Pokémon opened their mouths, and each fired a jet of water at me. “Ahh!” I shouted, scrambling out of the way of the attack. “H-hey, I’m sorry to intrude, but it was an accident!” I cried urgently. “I fell onto the property and I was trying to find a way out!”

“A likely story!” the old man retorted. “I punish anyone who intrudes on this estate without the express permission of the owner!”

“Then, you aren’t the owner of this estate, old man?” I asked, desperate to keep him talking rather than fighting.

The old man straightened up and adjusted his tie. “My name is Sebastian, impertinent child,” he said patronizingly, “and of course I am not the owner of this estate. I have worked as the Berlitz family’s butler since before the young lady was born. It is my duty to–”

“W-wait, really?” I exclaimed. I couldn’t believe my luck. “That's perfect! I was looking for the Berlitz estate. I came to visit her – the young lady, that is.”

“The lady does not entertain strangers,” Sebastian scoffed.

“I’m not a stranger,” I protested. “I’m her friend.”

“The young lady Berlitz would never be _friends_ with a commoner,” Sebastian said, looking at my outfit with disdain. I glanced down at my clothes myself; they had gotten a good deal messier after being dampened by Kit’s saliva and then rubbed on the ground. However, even as I examined myself, Sebastian’s words struck a chord in my memory.

_“Missy is the name that I give to commoners – to strangers. To people I do not know. But my real name is Platinum Berlitz, and I would prefer that you call me by that name.”_

“It’s true, I swear,” I said. “I’m Platinum’s friend.”

As soon as I said the name, Sebastian’s eyes widened in recognition and he examined me again with a critical eye. “I cannot say I understand the lady’s motivations,” he finally said, “but you must be telling the truth if you are allowed to use her name. I will take you to her. Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I just couldn't squeeze Platinum in this one without making it ridiculously long. But I have a special plan for the next chapter that includes _lots_ of Plat, so stay tuned for that. I plan to have it up before New Year's. :)


	6. In Her Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I promise a chapter with lots of Platinum, I deliver a chapter with lots of Platinum. Even if it is a month later than I planned. Enjoy ;)

“Economics is the social science that studies the _choices_ that individuals, businesses, governments, and entire societies make as they cope with _scarcity_ and the _incentives_ that influence and reconcile those…”

I set the book aside with a sigh. Economics was one of the few subjects for which I simply could not develop a healthy curiosity. I felt obligated to learn about economics now that I had acknowledged that Blue’s business was a failure, so I had requested that Sebastian leave me with some of our books on economics while he took a patrol of the grounds. However, I remained unable to fully engage myself in the topic.

“Lopunny,” I said, waving a hand at the pile of books beside me, “please take these back to the library. Bring me a romance novel instead.”

I shifted on my pillows and closed my eyes. That genre always seemed like contrived fantasy to me, but I still enjoyed reading about an experience I had never had. I loved my parents, and I loved research, but those types of love were different from the type that I had read about in fiction – romantic love, the love of flowers and sweets, of gentleness and generosity, of presence and affection. I did not believe in “love at first sight”, however, and I had never had ample time to become acquainted enough with anyone else to experience romantic attraction to them – a natural consequence of secluding myself from the world and rarely attempting to experience it outside of research.

My friend Moon, who studies the natural sciences, had told me many times before that the world could not be truly experienced secondhand. She always advised me to supplement what I had studied with my own experiences. While I did make some attempts to experience the general world beyond books and the Internet, the most I had ever experienced of love in that world was awkward small talk and cliché pick-up lines.

But, I now realized, that had changed after I met the boy Diamond.

At first, I thought nothing of him – he was just another man who was captivated by my appearance and had only a superficial infatuation with me. I expected to thoroughly enjoy flinging his hurriedly-made cake in that awestruck expression on his face. During those fifteen minutes that I had to wait for him to complete the cake, I was internally gloating my victory in giving him an impossible task and imagining to myself how flawed it might look.

However, as soon as I saw the cake, I realized that I had been vastly misjudging Diamond’s personality and skill. It was gorgeous and did not appear to have been made even slightly hastily. Even if I had still wanted to throw it in his face, I could find no flaws in it about which to rage. The sincerity with which he spoke combined with the fact that he believed the cake to be for an ill friend of mine magnified the guilt I felt, and I knew that I had to apologize for all the trouble I had put him through.

It was a rather impulsive decision to reveal my name to him at the end of that conversation, but I realized while he was trying to persuade me to stop the sabotage that he really, truly, cared – not just about me, but about his business, too. I found that I trusted him more knowing how much he cared about his bakery, and that he was essentially entrusting me with the future of his bakery by asking me to stop my acquaintance from sabotaging it. It only seemed right to entrust him with something important in return.

Although I promised him that I would stop the sabotage, I very nearly took the cowardly route to avoid a confrontation with Blue. She was a design major at the same university as Moon as well as a talented Pokémon Trainer. I only knew her because Moon had dragged me into their argument about the necessity of economics in running a successful business. Moon had wanted me to tell her that her business would fail if she refused to consider economic principles, but I disagreed and encouraged her to continue. I knew now that we were wrong, as the only thing keeping Blue's bakery from failing was underhanded attacks on her competition, but to admit that would be a harsh blow to my pride.

However, I had to remind myself that Diamond’s bakery was how he and Pearl made a living. It would be ridiculously selfish of me to allow my acquaintances to slowly drain their motivation and resources for the sake of keeping my pride intact. Therefore, I met with Blue at the university’s recreation center, where I informed her that I would no longer be helping her sabotage operation and requested that she cease it.

Unsurprisingly, she was quite agitated by my request. I offered a compromise: we would have a Pokémon battle, and she would be required to comply with my demands if she lost. She accepted, and added that if I lost, I would have to continue to help sabotage the DP Bakery regardless of whether I wanted to or not. 

We had a rather fierce Double Battle – my Empoleon and Lopunny versus her Blastoise and Nidoqueen. Midway through the battle, Blue commanded her Nidoqueen to attack Lopunny with Sludge Bomb. In a slight err in judgement, I instructed Lopunny to jump in order to dodge the attack. As Lopunny was standing directly between Nidoqueen and me, when it dodged Nidoqueen’s attack, the attack continued on and hit me instead.

The force of the sludge knocked me backwards and I slammed into a metal bench which was designed to be seating for spectators. I had hit the seat of the bench right in the center of my back, and I could not move without feeling an intense pain in my spine. However, I refused to delay or forfeit the battle simply on account of my injury, so I continued to command my Pokémon from my position sitting on the ground and leaning against the bench.

However, this rashness turned out to be a mistake as well. In the remaining duration of the battle, I had been subconsciously aware of a stinging pain on my left hand, but it was not until the end of the battle that I noticed the pain beginning to spread further up my arm. Once I had defeated Blue’s Pokémon, I looked down at myself and discovered that the sludge was corrosive, and it had eaten its way through most of my pink jacket and was working at the skin on my left arm.

 I quickly commanded Empoleon to rinse it off using Hydro Pump, and then sent out my Rapidash underneath me to carry me over to Blue. I managed to hold myself erect while I extracted a promise from Blue to never sabotage the DP Bakery again, but as soon as she was out of sight I slumped against Rapidash’s neck and exhaustedly told it to return home.

I slept for a few hours while Sebastian treated my injuries; when I awoke, the first thing I did was call the bakery to tell Diamond that I had succeded in protecting it. I wished to speak to him personally – given what I had observed of them in the past, I believed that he would be much more enthusiastic about the news than Pearl would.

However, the act of sitting up to speak to him was rather difficult on my back; when I began to laugh, the pain heightened, and it took a great deal of effort on my part not to cry out in pain. I wrapped up the conversation as expediently as possible so that I could lie down again, and it did not occur to me until after I had hung up that I ought to have informed him that I would be interested in seeing him again after I had recovered.

The fact that I actually desired more interaction with the man was startling to me at first. After all, he was of a lower socioeconomic class, and what benefit did I gain from any sort of relationship with him, friendship or otherwise? But the truth was that I enjoyed talking to him just as much as any of my other friends; he was entertaining, generous, and caring, and he trusted me. He did seem to be a bit simple-minded, but I did not expect perfection from a commoner. Besides, his strengths more than made up for his flaws.

As I laid in my bed, pondering the past two days, the thought crossed my mind for the first time: was this what it felt like to be in love?

My musings were interrupted when Sebastian entered my bedroom. “My young lady,” he said, “you have a guest.”

“A guest?” I exclaimed, affronted. “Sebastian, I am injured. I cannot entertain any guests today. Inform the guest of that, if you please.”

“He is aware of your present state,” Sebastian reported. “He gave that to be the reason for his unexpected visit.”

I frowned. I had told no one of my injuries aside from Diamond and Pearl, and they could not know the location of my family’s estate. The only other possibility that I could fathom was that Blue had shared the story with her own friends and acquaintances, and perhaps she had sent one of them to deliver some sort of message to me. However, I could not be certain whether that message would be conciliatory or confrontational.

“Where is the guest now?” I finally asked.

“He is waiting in the grand foyer,” Sebastian answered. “The Chinchou are keeping watch over him.”

“Then I will meet him there,” I declared. “Sebastian, please assist me in getting there.”

“My young lady,” he said hesitantly, “I am not so sure that that is a wise idea…”

I did not want to appear weak to whomever was my guest, but my back was protesting the idea as well. “Bring him here, then,” I conceded. “But at the least, help me over to that chair.”

A few moments after Sebastian had settled me in the plush violet armchair near the bay window, Lopunny returned with the book I had requested. It was quite ideal timing; it might look odd if I were merely sitting in a chair while waiting for my guest. In fact, it provided the perfect way to pass along the message to him that in _my house_ , we operate on _my time_.

I opened the book and skimmed over the title pages, jumping straight into the story itself. However, after I finished the opening scene and the exposition, I realized that I had retained none of the information that had been shared with me. My focus was directed at my sense of hearing, listening for the telltale sounds of a guest entering my room.

First, there was a soft click and the swish of the door gliding over the carpet. Then, Sebastian’s voice: “The lady is over _there_ , sir.” It sounded strained; was the guest being difficult? I nearly stole a glance up from my book to see what irritating thing he was doing, but I restrained myself; I wanted to pass along the message that what I was doing was much more important to me than whatever he was doing.

“Have a seat, please, sir,” Sebastian said firmly. A quiet rustling told me that my visitor was finally moving towards me. In a moment, I heard the soft squish of him plopping down into the chair.

Then we waited.

He seemed to be waiting for me to speak first, as he should. I decided that I would read the expository paragraphs of the book in my lap until I understood what they were saying before addressing him, which was more difficult to do when I was also acutely aware of every movement he made adjusting himself in the chair and such – the sounds were glaringly obvious in the otherwise silent room. He was shifting frequently; I wondered if that was nerves or something else.

I finally closed the book slowly and deliberately, tucking the inside book flap into the pages to keep my place. “Good evening,” I began, carefully setting the book on the arm of my chair.

"Your house is amazing!” the visitor blurted out.

My head jerked up instinctively as soon as I heard his voice. The book I had been trying to balance so delicately on the arm of my chair fell off, but retrieving it was a trivial matter in the face of the guest whom I had been treating so coldly who was not, in fact, an acquaintance of Blue at all.

“D-Diamond!?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Were you expecting someone else?” he asked with a chuckle. While I normally would have been irritated that he was amusing himself at my expense, in that instance my irritation was replaced with mortification that I had given my friend such a callous greeting.

How quickly this man had grown in my esteem…

“I – I simply…did not realize you knew the location of my family’s estate,” I said, attempting to recover from my gracelessness with some amount of polish.

“Well, I didn’t,” he admitted cheerfully. “I mean, I had a friend who kinda guided me in the right direction, but it was a total accident that I found the right place.”

“You ought to have said something when you came in,” I said. “I assumed you were a business acquaintance, and I am…not terribly fond of my business acquaintances.”

“Sebastian told me that you’d be reading when I came in, and that I shouldn’t interrupt your reading,” Diamond explained, looking a little sheepish again. “I figured it was something important.”

“Merely something to pass the time,” I said dismissively, to explain why I didn’t care that my book was lying pages-down on the carpet and I had lost my place in it. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

He smiled widely, but his expression dimmed when his eyes dropped to my bandaged arm. “Um, I wanted to make sure you were okay after what happened this morning,” he said. “I’m sorry that you got hurt because of me.”

“Because of _you?_ ” I asked, tilting my head. “It was my own careless command that resulted in my injury. Why on Earth would you believe it was any fault of yours?”

“Because I was the one who insisted you challenge your friend in the first place!” Diamond exclaimed.

I puzzled over his logic for a moment. I understood how he had come to that conclusion, but I disagreed with the validity of his argument. By that logic, it was my fault that Blue’s bakery failed because she ran it as she did as a result of my decision to take her side in her argument with Moon. However, if I had not taken her side, she likely would have still conducted her business without considering economics in an attempt to prove both of us wrong, and it still would have failed. And similarly…

“If you had not insisted that I confront her, I likely would have confronted her anyways because it was the responsible course of action,” I replied calmly. “Thus, my injury is certainly not your fault.”

Diamond pursed his lips. “Well, I feel bad for you anyways,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Certainly not,” I said sharply. But his face fell at my harsh words, and my heart sank. Putting aside my pride for a moment, I added in a softer tone, “Your concern is touching, though. Thank you.”

His countenance brightened, and he smiled back at me. We fell back into silence. However, this time it was a little less expectant than before. I noted that there was a certain elegance in the way he sat in the armchair – he held himself in a comfortably relaxed manner, at ease despite his unfamiliarity with the environment. On the contrary, I felt that I was shirking my duty as his host to entertain him. I considered asking Sebastian to bring a chessboard, a Wii, or _something_ – but I could think of no activity that the two of us could do together given my present condition.

Finally, Diamond broke the silence by asking, “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened to your arm?”

I wondered for a moment why he would specify my arm, but then I realized that my only visible sign of injury was the wrapping around my left arm and hand. “Ah, that was the result of a corrosive Sludge Bomb,” I explained. “Fortunately, I was wearing a jacket, which sustained most of the damage.”

“That’s good,” he said kindly.

Unfortunately, my injured arm was also my dominant arm, which further restricted my motor capabilities. I opted not to inform him of that detail; I was reluctant enough as it was to inform him of the injury to my back, which would be impossible to hide if I were to spend any more time in his company.

“However, that same attack also caused me to sustain an injury to my back,” I said with a sigh, “which has severely limited my mobility. Thus, I currently find myself only capable of actions which can be performed sitting back or lying down.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” he said, brow creasing in worry. “Maybe I should go, then?”

“After you went through all the trouble to get here, I would hate to send you away so soon,” I replied matter-of-factly. I was enjoying his company, despite the dully persistent ache in my spine. “Perhaps you could treat me with the story of how you managed to find your way to my family’s estate?”

He obliged, and I listened with rapt attention to the story of how he decided to visit me, and how he happened upon the estate in Sandgem Oaks. He told the story quite animatedly and dramatically, like he was acting out a play rather than recounting the events of his day. At one point, as he was describing his encounter with the little boy, I interrupted him and asked him if he had ever thought of pursuing a career in theater.

“Well, no,” he said, a little startled by the interruption. “I mean, when me and Pearl were kids, we dreamed about being professional comedians, but…that never really took off. We just weren’t funny enough, I guess.”

“How did you end up starting a bakery together, then?” I asked.

“Well, it started when we were sixteen,” he began, but quickly blinked and quirked his lips at me. “Let me finish the first story first!”

He returned to his tale and his encounter with the little boy. The fact that Sebastian refused to retrieve the little boy’s ball did not surprise me; the job of patrolling the estate is very time-consuming, and if he is thrown off his methodical survey of the grounds, he can easily lose track of which areas he has patrolled and which areas he has not. He apparently planned to retrieve the ball after he finished his patrol, although he clearly did not communicate that to the little boy.

“So, Sebastian brought me here,” Diamond concluded. “And, while I’m here, I did promise Sun that I’d recommend his services to you, if you’re ever in need of a courier.”

“I will keep that recommendation in mind. Thank you,” I said politely. My parents pay a private courier to handle all their deliveries, so I was doubtful that I would ever be in need of Sun’s services. However, in the event that said courier fell ill or was otherwise indisposed, it would be useful to have another reliable courier to call on in his stead.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Pardon the interruption, my young lady,” he said. “However, the hour is growing late, and our guest ought to be leaving soon.”

“Sebastian, that judgement is mine to make,” I retorted, but I started when I realized that the natural light passing through the window beside me had all but faded. My shoulders slumped slightly, and I sighed. “However, I suppose it would be impertinent to keep you any longer,” I said to Diamond. “I should not invite you to stay for dinner when I cannot join you, and you must be starving by now.”

As if on cue, Diamond’s stomach growled rather loudly. “Yeah, I am,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus, I’ve gotta work tomorrow, so I really shouldn’t stay out that late. But,” his expression brightened into a huge smile, “I really enjoyed talking with you. We should do it again sometime.”

“Likewise, and naturally,” I replied, returning his smile. “Besides, you still owe me the story of how you and Pearl decided to open your own bakery.”

He nodded and got to his feet.

“Sebastian will arrange transportation for you,” I added. “I would hate to force you to walk home in the dark.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. He glanced over at Sebastian, and then back at me, looking a bit more pensive than usual. Before I could comment on it, he took a few quick strides forward and wrapped his arms around me. I relaxed into his embrace for a few moments before he released me, beaming from ear to ear. “Thank you!”

I smiled at him as he headed over to Sebastian, who guided him out the door. “This way, sir,” I heard Sebastian say as their footsteps receded down the hall.

For a moment, I was irritated that Sebastian would address Diamond that way, as opposed to “young master” – the equivalent of addressing me as “young lady”. However, after a moment, I realized that it made logical sense because he used that form of address only for those of the upper class. I had only expected Sebastian to address Diamond the same way that he would address any of my other friends because in my eyes, he deserved the same amount of respect as them, regardless of the amount of money or property he owned. Diamond simply had an aura of empathy and grace about him that invoked trust and respect, and I loved that about him.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the chair. Yes, something had definitely changed after I met Diamond.

I had fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definition of economics taken from _Microeconomics_ , 10th edition, by Michael Parkin.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the longest chapter of this story! Unfortunately, it's also the last one. I love these two, but they're surprisingly difficult to write, and there's only so much I can write in this universe before it turns into a slice-of-life story. Plus, I have a bunch of other projects in the works that I'd like to focus on without having this one hanging over my head. Still, I hope you enjoyed this little Commoner love story. If you did, a kudos and a comment will be much appreciated. If you didn't, constructive criticism is also welcomed. :)
> 
> ~ Storm A.


End file.
